


The Art of the Mic Drop

by Firelightmystic



Series: Young Bloods [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: All the Best Scandals Draw Out the Lunatics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Politics, F/F, F/M, If Westboro Baptist is Boycotting You Then You Have Done Something Very Right or Very Wrong, Intrigue, Its ALWAYS the Nice Ones, M/M, Media Shenanigans, QPQVerse, Scandal, Subversive Poets, Trolling Political Parties for Fun and Profit, Weaponized Poetry, When In Doubt Turn the Party Against Itself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6673993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelightmystic/pseuds/Firelightmystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strike>What you <i>actually</i> do with an English major.</strike><br/><strike>Poets can be subversive little shits if left unattended.</strike><br/><strike>Poet Laureates are the Elite bosses of the literary assassin squad and Not To Be Trifled With. </strike><br/><strike>Phillis Wheatley is tired of your crap, and will make you cry. </strike><br/><strike>Don't come for her if she didn't send for you.</strike><br/>In which the secret gets out, there is a huge scandal, and Phillis Wheatley shuts the trolls down. HARD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Poet and the Snake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rillrill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/gifts), [OscarthegrouchILOVETRASH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OscarthegrouchILOVETRASH/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place two years or so after the end of Quid Pro Quo. Triggered by chapter 18 of Out of the frying pan/into the fire by [OscarthegrouchILOVETRASH](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OscarthegrouchILOVETRASH/pseuds/OscarthegrouchILOVETRASH)
> 
> Check out the gem that started it all: [Quid Pro Quo](/works/5880157) by [rillrill](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill).
> 
> Grab some roast while you're at it: [Out of the frying pan/into the fire](/works/6426130)

 

Phillis Wheatley was a Great Friend ™.

Phillis Wheatley gave out her password to her Audible account when her friends were laid up and bored thanks to losing a fight with a tree. She showed up to a party bearing gifts, stayed to clean up afterwards, and made breakfast in the morning if she got wasted and had to sleep on the couch. Her hashbrown casserole was legendary, and the cranberry orange muffins had prevented murders at the hands of the hangover-afflicted.

She was the friend you called to bail you out of jail because she didn't judge and actually answered her phone on a reliable basis. She was the friend you called in the middle of the night because you had Real Adult Problems keeping you up and she stayed on the phone until you talked yourself back to sleep. She was the friend who cursed out the people who did you wrong, trolled the shit out of your enemies, and waited until there were no witnesses to tell you off for being a jackass when the situation applied.

She was a really Great Friend ™ to Alexander Hamilton and Eliza Schuyler (and therefore, by extension, the Washingtons), so one of the first things her publicist did when #Daddygate reared its ugly, obnoxiously intrusive, hateful little head was cut her off at the pass before she waded right into the middle of that wretched spectacle and wound up doing more harm than good.

It rankled, because people she had grown to respect and care for were getting reamed all over the media, and a Great Friend ™ didn't let that sort of thing fly by without going to bat for them. She'd seen the pictures all over the news after they'd returned from Nevis. Alex tried to play the stoic card but looked more like he was in traumatic shock caused by being run over by a speeding train whose whistle sounded a lot like "Daddy". Eliza looked lost and wounded and humiliated and shaken, and why wouldn't she--there were fucking _nudes_ of her on the Internet now because Maria _Fucking_ Reynolds was a shady as shit girl-code violating, unprincipled, scumbag, trashloid queen. The Washingtons looked wore out and _pissed_ and _stressed_ , and yeah, the Presidency was supposed to age you but _holy shit,_ it wasn't supposed to crater you that damned fast.

Three days in and some of the more intrepid sleazy reporters were already stalking anyone remotely tied to the four and had already come for her, Hercules, John, and Lafayette. They couldn't do too much to her specifically unless she gave them _something_ to work with, however and her publicist had refused to allow her to stumble into that particular trap.

She occasionally cursed Tench for feeding her to Rick once the election was over and her old publicist retired. Richard Cary had been trained by Tench before going solo, and while he was nicer and less blunt than Tench could be, he was just as quick on his feet when it came to getting her under control, and he’d had experience with doing just that because he’d been part of Tench’s posse during the campaign. Her first call after the scandal initially hit the airwaves had come from Rick, who had been quick to demand radio silence from her. She’d picked up the phone with a sort of numb horror as she stared at the breaking news alerts on the TV and social media explosion on her laptop and immediately had Rick’s furious baritone in her ear. “Wheatley you don’t say shit to anyone, _do_ _anything,_ go _anywhere_ or even _think_ the word “statement”. Matter of fact, you do not _**breathe** _ until I say so. Every ounce of your media contact comes straight through me, and you _do not_ discuss this with anyone who gets through to your private line. You don’t _answer_ that phone unless it’s me. As of now, Phillis Wheatley doesn’t exist. If you do _anything_ to contradict that idea, I’ll see to it that it becomes permanently true.”

Rick didn’t let up in the following days. It was all "Don't draw any unnecessary fire onto yourself, or onto them by your own actions" and "I know Tighlman talked to you about this during the campaign, Phillis, so I shouldn't even have to repeat it. But I am. Your reputation can withstand the trouble you stir up because you've racked up enough brownie points to actually get away with a murder, but the people around you can't afford the fallout right now."

She'd finally gone stir crazy enough to hint around at firing him (mostly half-joking), but he'd just sneered, then turned around and sicced Tench on her, and not only was Rick _not_ fired, Tench had crawled down her throat for being childish, threatened to preemptively confiscate her laptop and phone like he had Alex's since she obviously didn't have good sense, and then reminded her that a Poet Laureate who went gleefully running headlong into a political minefield was a Poet Laureate that that didn't get appointed to a second term.

Complete and total bullshit, no matter how right they were.

So...she behaved.

She didn't reply to any of the Tweets Alex had spammed Maria _fucking_ Reynolds with even though it nearly killed her. She didn't tag in on Deborah Sampson's fired shots even though she itched to drop in a few words, and she studiously ignored all the ridiculous Republican gloating and scare-mongering coming out of the woodworks, as well as the Dems running for cover rather than rallying behind their (once upon a time) star politician even though she had a _lot_ to say about that. The NAACP and HRC released statements of their own and _surely_ she’d be allowed to say something after that because that was _her_ freaking turf, but Rick had refused to let her do that much until he’d worked out her approach, which turned out to be _still_ not doing a damn thing because while John had already popped off at the mouth and put a too-nosy reporter that had been lurking outside his apartment back in check, Hercules had been forced to close up shop _again_ thanks to journalists and tabloid hounds continually loitering around his job, and Tench had assigned someone to sit on Lafayette because the man was so far beyond pissed he was ready to start fighting people.

The only approved communication during the fallout was when she texted her condolences and support to Alex and the gang, but that had been days ago. They were still being viciously hammered, and Phillis Wheatley stayed silent.

She felt as much a traitor by the end of the week as Judas. Worse even, because at least Judas got _paid_ for being an unprincipled jerk. She was just Phillis Wheatley, Not-So-Great Friend ™ and it sat all wrong inside of her stomach and worked at her nerves, and holy freaking crap she wanted to unload so bad on someone but _couldn't_.

Private citizen Phillis Wheatley was shut down, and so was _Dr._ Phillis Wheatley, United States Poet Laureate, which was even worse.

Dr. Phillis Wheatley always had something to say, usually in iambic pentameter when she was feeling insightful, haiku when she was setting people straight on Twitter, or limerick when she was feeling mischievous. She’d be all over social media by now, and her followers knew it. They were beginning to wonder, no doubt.

Dr. Wheatley was a staunch supporter of the HRC--she'd received the Ally for Equality Award last year, for fuck's sake, and _they_ were rallying around the Washington crew, yet she was silent. That was just irresponsible.

Dr. Wheatley was one of the more visible members of the NAACP and they were beginning to work themselves into a fine simmer because George and Martha Washington had been in the fold for a long time and the NAACP stood behind their own unless you _really_ screwed the pooch; this hot mess of a scandal was pretty bad, but definitely not the worse situation they’d taken on. She should have been standing behind Oliver Cromwell with the rest of the big names and faces. Crispus Attucks Sr. was probably off somewhere in heaven giving her the biggest stink-eye ever levied at a wayward pupil, and she deserved it.

Dr. Wheatley always came crawling out from under some particularly sonnet-worthy artistically mossed rock or another when there was a cause that needed fighting. Except, apparently, when the cause was one that she was morally and professionally bound to weigh in on. Her voice was _required_ , and she was silent. It was embarrassing and frustrating and disloyal. An activist who didn't act. Absolutely disgraceful.

Phillis Wheatley, Crap Friend ™ and Shitty Activist ™, that’s where she landed on the scale these days.

Jesus Christ.

So it was no wonder she was in a bad mood. She was pissed at herself, pissed at Maria _Fucking_ Reynolds, pissed at the media frenzy, and spoiling for a fight that she had explicitly been denied the right to seek out.

And then there was _this_ shit. Phillis tried not to cringe as she stared at her phone’s screen. 1:45 A.M. She had an interview on The Today Show at 9 in the morning and she did _not_ want to do it. Sure, she was there to discuss her lectureship series and the upcoming reading at the end of the week, but only an idiot would think that an exclusive interview wasn’t going to be used to get her to weigh in on the #Daddygate controversy. The one thing she _wanted_ to void, and she was being put front and center.

_Sure,_ Rick (and Tench, and probably fifty million other people) had been in touch with the Today Show producers to tell them that questions about it was strictly off limits, and had probably dropped a warning or fifty directly in Banny’s ear, but she was there, and the opportunity was too ripe to pass up. Phillis Wheatley was finally going to be out in the open come the morning, and it was going to be _ugly._

She and Rick (and no doubt Rick and Tench) had talked over a few strategies in case the inevitable occurred, but all his advice boiled down to in the end was "cleverly deflect", "indignantly deflect" "sorrowfully deflect" and nine or ten canned responses that absolutely wouldn't stand up if her interviewer got belligerent. They were banking on the fact that as Poet Laureate, the entirety of the English language was her home court and she could dance circles around Banny’s questions all day. She might be able too; _might._ Yes, she was a top notch banterer, but Banny Tarleton was a ginormous career douchebag who didn’t give two shits about anything that didn’t involve fellating his own ego or getting another award. He was going to go for the jugular and she didn’t have a way to reliably fend him off.

They’d bounced around the idea of her rescheduling the interview or just canceling it outright, but she couldn’t afford to go that route. The only thing that would fly would be if she took deathly freaking ill or collapsed or something suitably dramatic that would pretty much demand her absence, and she couldn’t play that card and still do her reading on Friday. The _mandatory_ reading because she was Poet Laureate, and that title and stipend came with a few unavoidable non-negotiable stipulations. The reading was a go, and that meant the interview was a go too.

And since the reading was a go, there was a giant shark circling in the water for her. Banastre “Banny” Tarleton was “the most hated man on network television”. He’d been jumped from Good Morning America to Live! to The Today Show because his co-workers and guests _hated him_ , but he brought in the ratings because he was the Brit America Loved to Hate (and Hated to Love), and NBC needed his draw to compete with their daytime TV rivals. No one enjoyed being interviewed by Banny, but it was sometimes a career necessity.

Phillis, however, had never been fond of the idea of walking placidly into your own demise, and with Tench focused on his actual _much more visible_ and _much more screwed_ clients, and Rick having stretched the limits of his expertise, she didn’t have many options left. She had a few. One required acting at an Oscar level, the second involved her abandoning ship, fleeing America and going to Britain in slight disgrace because they loved her over there and the worst scandal she’d have to deal with when she arrived would be getting into arguments over the pronunciation of aluminum. The last—and only _viable—_ option was to wade in and play just as dirty as Banny Tarleton would.

Playing dirty wasn’t her expertise, but it _was_ someone else’s, and she’d just quite never had been able to remove from his name from her contacts or even cut him out of her life entirely. Phillis stared at her phone a moment longer, then sat up in her hotel bed and reached over to choose the form of the destructor. She typed in a few letters and Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Ruiner of Lives popped up on her screen. Maybe she could have changed his name to something less ornately damning, but if the shoe fit, you shined that sporty little bastard up and _wore it._

She took a steadying breath, and hit dial.

Two rings in, and a smooth (slightly sleepy) voice purred into her ear. “Lissy, baby, calling me this late is booty call territory. Not that I mind. What are you wearing?”

Phillis snorted in amusement. One of the few down sides to ditching Thomas Paine, she mused, was the outrageous humor he indulged in when no one was looking. But a good laugh did little to erase the staggering amount of flaws he brought to the table. “Hercules Mulligan.”

If only. Herc hadn’t been able to make the trip for this horror-show of an interview with her, but he _was_ going to be waiting for her at the airport when she got back. She could’ve used his advice right now. But hey, Thomas Paine was a good substitute in this one instance. Evil, underhanded media sabotage was his forte, after all.

Thomas Paine groaned in disgust and she heard bedsprings creaking over the phone and a slight grunt as Thomas shifted around into a more comfortable position. “No accounting for taste. What’s up Lissy?”

“I need a favor.”

“Don’t ask me to lay off about Daddygate, Wheatley. I’m not going to stay silent on this one. You _have_ to know that.”

“I know. But you’re a Republican shill, Tommy. I would expect no less from you, though I have to point out that the hypocrisy of _you_ saying _anything_ about scandal—”

“ _Phillis._ ”

“Fine. Shit. Look. Tommy, I need a solid. I have to go smile in Banny Tarleton’s face on the Today Show later this morning.”

Stunned disbelief met that statement, and on the other end of the line Thomas Paine dropped the bullshit and focused on the matter at hand. He’d _watched_ the vultures start circling around the Washingcrew’s nearest and dearest once it became clear they couldn’t latch on to any of the main players proper, and Phillis Wheatley’s silence hadn’t gone unnoticed. Richard Cary had been smart enough to deflect any media inquiries by pointing to Phillis’ busy schedule and known tendency to sequester herself away when working on her poetry, but what the hell, Rick?

Effectively hiding one of the more notable members of the Washingcrew’s inner circle away was smart, but to then turn around and let the first time she reared her head after Reynolds broke the Daddygate scandal be on national television at the nonexistent mercies of Banastre Tarleton?

“….Phillis Wheatley, fire your publicist.”

“Rick’s hands were tied, Tommy. He would have already killed the interview, but Poet Laureate comes with responsibilities, and I can’t cancel a heavily advertised interview about my upcoming _mandatory_ presentation without committing a massive faux pas. I can get away with a lot; I can’t get away with _that._ Especially not now when the press is eyeballing anyone with any sort of connection to the Washingcrew.”

“So you’re calling me because…?”

Phillis scowled at her phone. “You know good and hell well why I called you.”

“Do I? I wasn’t aware I was psychic.”

Phillis sighed. Fuck it. She could humor Paine for a few minutes, especially if it _saved her ass_ in the long run. “Tommy, I don’t want to take my ass on national TV and get reamed behind this shit. Rick and Tench did what they could, but I need an ace in the hole for when Banny decides to go for my throat because I’m not stupid enough to think he’ll play ball with any of us. If he can piggyback off of Reynolds without too much of the grime rubbing off on him, he’ll do it.”

She stretched and rotated her neck this way and that, trying to work out a stress kink before it fully formed. “I need something that’ll shut him the hell up, because the only way you deal with someone like Banny Tarleton is by fighting fire with tactical fucking nukes.”

“Well, at least _you_ don’t have rocks in your head.”

“Thank you, Tommy.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You _owe_ _me_ for this, Lissy.”

“I know.”

“We’ll hash out the details after the interview?”

“Same as always.” Phillis shifted around in her bed and got comfortable.

Paine’s voice grew contemplative. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t go to Sampson first. She’s linked up pretty tight with your hub of people and is bound to have something on Tarleton.”

True enough. But from what Alex had told her about Deborah Sampson, she figured the woman would be focused entirely on pulling Washington’s ass out the fire. No time for Phillis Wheatley’s minor dramas unless it escalated into a liability for the huge ass maneuverings she did not doubt were going on behind the scenes. Besides, in her experience? Dealing with tabloids—even ones that ran a surprisingly clean ship like Nightstalker—meant dabbling in the world of quid pro quos, and Phillis wasn’t sure she wanted to find out what a favor like that might cost her. She knew how Tommy operated, and this wasn’t the first time he’d helped her out like this. Besides, Tommy had a personal stake in all this.

“I probably _could_ have gone to Sampson, but the only person who hates Tarleton more than you is William Wilberforce, and Willie’s off licking his wounds back in England. Banny stole his show and then knocked his wife up, so I _know_ there’s got to be some major shit between you two to hate him more than Willie. You can’t tell me you _haven’t_ been doing prep work to utterly fuck this asshole.”

“Fair enough.” Thomas said quietly. “And funny you should mention across the Pond. Talked to Mary Robinson lately?”          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banastre Tarleton: Grand Moff Tarkin of the Revolutionary War, now Grand Moff Tarkin of NBC (Picture an Evil Simon Cowell)
> 
> William Wilberforce: Bitter enemy of Banastre Tarleton and a Good Guy (only mentioned, never seen, but picture Liam Hemsworth)
> 
> Richard Cary: Yet another of Washington's aides-de-camp, now a beleaguered publicist. (Jamie Foxx, gang)
> 
> Thomas Paine: The Boba Fett of the political world. Character ~~disintegrations~~ assassinations done cheap.
> 
> Oliver Cromwell: I know what you're thinking, but no. Not the British jerkwad. This Oliver Cromwell was an african american slave who fought during the Revolutionary War with distinguish and gained his independence. He'll be playing the part of Head of the NAACP. (Feel free to kick back and dream of Denzel Washington, gang.)


	2. The Poet and the Snake (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~The Thomas Paine School of Career Assassinations has a home tutoring program.~~  
>  ~~In which our intrepid duo gathers up stones in preparation for a glass house strafing run.~~  
>  ~~If you can't beat them, mutually assured destruction is the way to go.~~  
>  The Best Laid Plans of Poets, Snakes, and Scumbag Celebrity Anchors.

 

Thomas Paine had rescheduled one of his morning appointments to meet her in her hotel room and do a last minute strategy session with her _in person_ , and that was after taking two hours to give her a complete breakdown of his “Banastre Tarleton is the Grand High Wizard of Cheating Douchebag Hypocrites.” He showed up bearing gifts of Starbucks and a piping hot breakfast sandwich he picked up from somewhere. Assorted. Still warm. Because, he said, they were both up late, and nobody needed to start an interview with Banny Tarleton half-sleep and running on fumes.

Stuff like this was why she never seemed to be able to kick him out of her life.

Phillis looked at the drink. Venti caramel Frappuccino with two pumps of toffee nut syrup and three shots of espresso added to it, no whip.

Thomas Paine might be a dick, but he came through in a pinch.

Five-hour energy, cracked open and stirred into her Frappuccino? Check.

God bless this glorious asshole. He still knew how to make her Wheatley special.

The breakfast sandwich was huge, a buttery croissant loaded up with tomatoes, bacon, sausage, soft scrambled eggs, and a ton of what looked like jalapeno jack cheese. Tommy had swung through some kind of custom grill joint and got her a (piping hot!!) sandwich loaded up with all her breakfast faves. All of her faves, and a side of golden tater tots. 

This. _This_ was why she had spent the time she wasn’t plotting out the intricacies of his untimely demise jumping his bones.

Bracing herself for the oncoming storm, Phillis popped the lid off of her Frappuccino and slammed downed as much of it as she could before the brain freeze struck.

Half of the way through, she shuddered violently and slammed her drink into the outstretched hand of her much beleaguered co-conspirator. Two seconds later, she doubled over with a high-pitched squeal and began to pat at her temples as the inevitable occurred.

Paine stared at her, expression full of bored disdain as she _died,_ holy Jesus, _holy fucking shit_ owowowowowoOWOW _OWOW_!!

“I don’t feel sorry for you.”

Phillis’ cheeks began to puff in and out rapidly in an attempt to force warm air to her brain as she held up a hand and proudly displayed the pink matte-lacquered nail of her middle finger. Thomas Paine? Not impressed.

“Functional Adults have a cup of coffee and some No-Doze. What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

Phillis screamed silently.

At least it got more warm air into her head.

As suddenly as it hit, her brain-freeze began to fade, and Phillis slowly straightened up, working through the edges of her discomfort over the span of two or three minutes.

Thomas stared down at her the whole time, completely unfazed. “You done yet?”

“I’m going back in.” Phillis said after a long, relieved exhale, then reached for her drink and polished off the rest of it.

Sure enough, brain-freeze number two showed up to kick her ass, and Thomas walked over to the table taking up most of the right hand corner and made himself comfortable.

“AAAARRRGHH!”

Thomas looked up from the cellphone he pulled out and shook his head in bafflement. “Fucking ridiculous. Are you _twelve?_ ”

Phillis whimpered and continued to pay for her sins.

Thomas yawned and finished reading through the text he'd pulled up before looking over at Phillis as she finally staggered past him toward the table. "If only the Librarian could see you now. I’m sure he’d be thrilled.”

Phillis paused her attempts at shaking the remnants of her brainfreeze away. It wasn’t like it was even working, to be honest. “Sam Keimer’s already at rock bottom for expectations. He had to deal with all of Franklin’s crap before he croaked it, then had to deal with Adams going crazy paranoid and breathing down his neck, and now he’s got Washington blowing up all over the news. I’d have to literally start an orgy in the Center’s Poetry Room to disappoint him.” And maybe not even that, considering the things the late great President Franklin had gotten up to. The Librarian of Congress had definitely Seen Some Shit this last decade.

“That’s an image.”

“You know, I actually feel bad for Keimer? I think he’s just going to throw in the towel and hide himself off in Barbados for a while.” Phillis let out a deep sigh as the last dregs of her brain-freeze wore off. “Holy crap, I forgot how horrible that was. On the plus side, I’m definitely awake now, though.”

She slouched down in her chair across from Thomas and held up the sandwich he’d unwrapped for her while she killed off the Frappuccino. “Want a bite?”

Thomas contemplated the sandwich for a moment, then leaned over and took a large bite out of the cheesiest portion.

Phillis stared at the sandwich mournfully. “I was going to eat that part…”

“Courtesy dictates honored guests get the best portions of everything.”

“You’re not my honored guest, Tommy. You’re more like my pet demon or something.”

Thomas raised an imperious eyebrow. “Doesn’t change much. Pet demons turn on their mistresses if ill-treated. Feed me well or face my revenge.”

“I would poison you instead. Less drama on my hands. Now. Let’s get the battle plan together.”

“Fine, fine.” Thomas leaned over, took another bite of her sandwich, and chewed contentedly, completely unconcerned about Phillis’ outraged expression. “Quiz time. Banny Tarleton is currently shacked up with who?”

“Willie Wilberforce’s wife. Soon to be ex-wife.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s _really_ dedicated to personally shitting all over the poor guys life?”

Thomas grimaces at that because she’s _not wrong_ , and leans back in his chair. “Technically true, but the answer I’m looking for is that he got her pregnant.”

“Allegedly. The way you’re spinning this crap, I wouldn’t be surprised if another guy is the father. Banny signed up for a paternity test yet?”

“Not that I know of, but it’s more than likely his. He’s done nothing to combat the rumors, anyway.”

“What a scumbag. I swear, this happens way too often with cheaters. You’d think they’d be smarter about using protection.” Phillis looks momentarily put out by the whole situation. She doesn’t know if she blames faulty sex education for creating bad adult habits later in life, or if sheer stupidity plays a hand. Maybe both.

“You also apparently think Tarleton isn’t a big enough asshole to poke a hole in his own condom just to purposefully knock up Willie’s ex-wife. Or that his lovely companion is blameless in this entire situation.”

“Wait, what?!...No, really, what the actual fuck? That’s some kind of insane Machiavellian Peyton Place bullshit.”

 _There_ was that bit of naiveté that tended to come peeking out at random moments that made Phillis so earnestly _sincere_ and _hopeful_ and _good._ Thomas wasn’t stupid enough to think she was pure as the driven snow because _no one_ was. But Phillis…she didn’t automatically expect the worst of people. Yes, she knew it was there because she’d personally lived through some of the worst evils that could be inflicted on another person, because she advocated for immigrant and civil rights and had borne witness to true horrors.

She _knew_ the devils that lurked the world, but somehow managed to still assume the best of people. It was that interplay of light and shadow in her personality that first drew him to her, and then promptly proceeded to drive him absolutely insane because Jesus Christ, you couldn’t afford to be this forgiving of people’s motives and survive in a public career. Phillis probably gave Rick Cary nightmares.

He was right to personally intervene after last night’s phone call; Tarleton ate nice, liberal-minded dreamers alive—Phillis would be nothing more than a light appetizer that bastard polished off on his way to tear chunks out of Hamilton and Washington’s meatier targets. Rick should have canceled the interview, and then fed Phillis a large helping of bad meat to land her in the hospital with food poisoning and give her a legitimate “get out of jail free” card. Thomas sighed internally. _He_ would have done it in a heartbeat.

Luckily Phillis had a sharp mind, and while she was naturally predisposed to play nice, she wasn’t against being taught how to play on his side of the tracks.

Thomas stretched again and grabbed a few tater tots. “Willie’s not a bad sort for a liberal, but he’s got a romantic streak a mile wide. He wanted the American Dream—wife, nice job, picket fence, two and half kids on the way. Same thing most people want when they start feeling their middle years creeping up on them. He’s been trying for that dream for a few years now. Especially the kids part of it. Unfortunately, he’s either shooting blanks or God, knowing his soon-to-be-ex-wife is a raunchy harlot, saw fit to put an ix-nay on that whole “be fruitful and multiply” business. I actually heard a few rumors that they were looking at clinics and treatments. Banny is probably laughing himself sick because somewhere in his asshole brain, successfully knocking Willie’s wife up is just icing on the cake for him.”

Phillis just stared at him, repulsed at the new lows she was being subjected to. “Good Lord.”

“I’m sure He’s the _last_ one involved with this mess. Anyway, Willie’s wife? She wins no matter what happens. If Banny’s the father, she’s got a nice meal ticket, and maybe a marriage to an A-list celebrity in the works. If it’s actually Willie’s, then she’s absolutely going to clean his clock in divorce court and then ream him on child support.”

Phillis slouched further down and made a disgusted face as she stared at her toes. “And everyone knows his favorite pastime is fucking Willie over. The only reason he’s still staying afloat is because he’s an A-rank celebrity that’s saving NBC’s ratings, but the network’s getting fed up with his antics and another scandal would make them give him the boot, ratings or no.”

“Which is where you come in. If he goes after you, you’re going to give him a face full of his own scandal to have to deal with. Show some teeth and claw, and he’ll back off.” Thomas took a quick sip from his bottle of mineral water. “Now, what’s the scandal?”

“He’s playing back-door Santa for Mary Robinson back in Britain.”

“And what do we know about Mary?”

Phillis toyed with a curl as she finished the last of the tater tots.

“Ongoing fling with Tarleton that actually predates _this_ mess and is showing no signs of stopping. Also, Willie’s ex-wife has no idea about Mary.”

“Right. Now, what don’t either of these ladies know?”

Phillis frowned. “That Tarleton has _another_ lover, also British, but currently residing in Canada.”

“Anna Wilberforce, Mary Robinson, and Susan Bertie. Three women, three countries, and the pièce de résistance?”

“Susan Bertie is only 19.” Phillis suddenly looked ill. “Tommy, that’s _gross_. Banny’s what, freaking 45? 50??”

“46.”

Phillis shuddered. “That dirty piece of shit has no right to say a _single_ _word_ about _anything_ anyone else gets up to, _especially_ not a relationship where all parties are aware of each other and fully consenting.”

“Exactly _._ If he even tries for you, _crucify him,_ babe _._ ”

“Gleefully.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence, Thomas checking a few messages while Phillis sent an update to Rick, who while not thrilled she was anywhere near Paine, was fully aware of their lingering friendship and had even been dragged into last night’s discussion courtesy of a three-way call. Rick was back in DC putting his head together with Tench and trying to unravel the mess Reynolds had dumped in their laps. The only reply to the sordid message trail was a devil emoji followed up by an ominous, “I’ll make a few calls.”

That done, she looked at the time on her phone. 7:45. Ugh.

 Thomas glanced at his own phone and frowned at her expression. “What time is your interview again?”

 “10.”

 “Go get ready.”

 “I’d planned on doing that eventually. I don’t need to be rushed.” Heat began to creep into Phillis’ voice at the order. The quickest way to get her riled up to was to boss her around; she absolutely _loathed_ being told what to do, and Thomas was one of the bossiest people she knew.

 “You procrastinate. I’m not driving you to the studio in a panic.”

 Phillis stiffened. “You aren’t driving me at all.”

 “Yes, I am. We’ve got reactions and responses to work on. Rick gave you a good framework and decent enough tips but it’s not enough. He deals with sane, civilized, do-gooder types; character assassinations and sleazebag celebrity drama isn’t his forte.”

 “But it’s yours?”

 Thomas shrugged and finished his mineral water. “We all have our talents. You don’t keep a show on the air without knowing how to play the game. If it were anyone else but Tarleton? Rick would be all you needed. I’m going to show you how to beat him at his own game and make his producers _hate him_ if he goes after you. You’re not a celebrity dependent on the media. You need the pointers.”

 “I’m famous enough.”

 “In the right circles, yes, but you’re nothing compared to Banny. Not yet. I’m going to make sure _you_ come out of this intact. Honestly, this shit-show is hilarious to me and I’m practically getting off on how hard Hamilton’s getting dragged right now. I hate that asshole, and I’ve never been too fond of Washington either. I’d be perfectly content to watch Banny rip all of them to shreds—God knows I’ve been cashing in on this bullshit while the getting is good—but not at _your_ expense. I’m covering your back, and it gets me the added bonus of sticking it to Banny in the process because he’s too stupid to leave well enough alone. _That’s_ why I’m here.”

 “Really? And Banny didn’t do anything to you personally to have you after his head?”

 Thomas ignored her attempt to dig and deliberately focused on his phone again. “Go get ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you make the drama up, sometimes life lets it play out right before your eyes. The intercontinental love-parallelogram above actually occurred with a co-worker of mine, but replace the countries with Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas. It went about as well as expected... x__x


	3. Morning Roast on the Today Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~In Which The Big Bad Brit Takes the Bait~~   
>  ~~In Which The Victim Flips The Script~~   
>  ~~There's Always A Crowd At The Execution~~   
>  ~~Gossip, Gossip Everywhere~~
> 
>  
> 
> In Which Phillis Has a Live Showdown With A Scumbag Asshole

 

The thing about Alexander Hamilton was that he doesn't know when--or probably even how--to stop. He charged headfirst into a thousand disasters--he _was_ a disaster. Alexander was all wild emotion, fierce intellect, and unbridled energy made manifest in a mortal hurricane that tore into the lives of everyone caught in its path. And like all hurricanes, you either ran from it, endured it and took the chance you'd come out the other side somehow intact, or you _chased it,_ drawn by the danger and primal impact of a force of nature. Or--

"Jesus Christ, find a new shtick, Revere! I hope you die in a fire you neo-con fucktard!"

Or then you _strangled the hurricane_ because it was too early in the morning to endure Alexander on a ranting spree. "Mouth!"

"There's stupid people on TV!"

George glanced up from the remains of the once brightly wrapped care package that had been delivered to the house earlier that morning. It _had_ contained a great many items both trivial and relaxing addressed to _him_ that he had looked forward to enjoying before the care package had been promptly looted by the band of thieves loosely masquerading as his family. The volume of The Boondocks had last been seen in the care of Alexander, The Authoritative Calvin and Hobbes had promptly been stolen by Eliza, the container of homemade mint chocolate chip cookies had been liberally sampled (read: _eaten_ ) by Martha and Alexander, and while he wasn't a hundred percent certain, if he had to name names the book of Mad Libs was now in Eliza's possession as well. At least his traitorous household knew better than to go near the bottle of Maker's Mark or candied pecans resting proudly in the center of the basket.

"Then turn it _off._ "

"Give me my phone or laptop and I will." Alexander shot back from their bed.

George snorted and reached for the greeting card sitting next to the Maker's Mark. "Heck no. You deserved that confiscation."

Alex groaned and rolled over onto his stomach. "I'll apologize to John Adams?"

"No you won't."

Alex paused for a brief moment, then sighed in defeat. "Yeah, okay. But he had it coming!"

George arched an eyebrow at Alexander then turned back to the card in his hands. It was plain white with a sunny yellow lemon on the front and was surrounded by the words "When Life gives you lemons, freeze them and throw them at Life's balls" in scrawling black cursive. Inside the card were various notes underneath an elegant (unnecessarily ornate) header that read, "Take Your Mind Off The Stupidity". He recognized Phillis’ handwriting immediately.

_Chances are you got robbed of your cookies; look under the cellophane. ~ Phillis Wheatley._ George made sure Alex wasn't looking directly at him and peeked under the cellophane. Another plate of cookies and another book of Mad Libs was waiting for him. Bless that woman.

_"We couldn't find a greeting card that expressed our opinions better than this that didn't also contain absurd amounts of profanity. Down the hatch, sir!" ~ John Laurens & Herc Mulligan (who was there for moral support while Philly made the cookies and helped pick out the Mad Libs, even if she won't acknowledge me as a participating party as is my due. It was also my idea to hide the cookies. Just saying.)_

George chuckled to himself and picked up the small wallet-sized photo of Georges, Lafayette and Adrienne's baby, being cradled in George's arms, a wide toothless grin on their son's face and a happy sparkle in his eyes. George flipped the card over and felt something warm settle over his overly-strained nerves. _We named our son for a great man, and that is as true today as any other day. Let these mongrel idiots howl all they want; it does not diminish the truth of who you are._ _Enjoy the Pecans. Gilbert & Adrienne. _

"Sweet baby Jesus! Go screw yourself, Cornwallis!"

George sighed and tossed the card back in the basket. "Hamilton!" The command and snap to George's voice had Alexander's full attention. "Get off C-SPAN."

"Aaargh." Alex flipped the channel and flopped back down on the bed.

ABC had pictures of George and Martha up.

Nope. Flip.

CNN had Alex's press conference flub few from a couple of years ago up next to a candid shot from the election campaign of them in what had once been considered a prime “bromance” moment, no doubt wildly speculating.

Nope. Flip.

Fox News.

**_Hell no._ **

George shook his head slowly at Alex’s antics. "I repeat: you could turn the stupid thing off."

"But then I'd be bored."

"I'm _sure_ I could find something for you to do."

Alex could practically _feel_ the leer going across his body. He fought down the urge to smirk as he casually turned on his side and pretended to ignore George as he flipped the channel.

The View.

_“—sanctity of marriage—”_

Alexander hurriedly flipped to the next channel.

The Today Show.

_"She's a poet, an author, an immigration and civil rights activist, and so much more, but many people give our United States Poet Laureate Dr. Phillis Wheatley a different title: National Treasure."_

Ooh!

Alex actually legitimately perked up and stopped the channel surfing as he caught sight of a familiar face. Phillis Wheatley was seated across from Banny Tarleton in a pretty pink, silver and white mosaic print blouse, light gray slacks, and soft silver sandals. She looked younger than she already usually did—and she was one of the youngest out of their group—and she had traded in her usual vibrant colors and retro styles for a more feminine and professional style. The glasses finished off the look. She had perfectly fine vision and didn’t need them, but it helped make her look more credible. It was also an _excellent_ fidgeting target. Adjusting your glasses was okay. Strangling someone was not.  The red streaks and highlights in her hair had been replaced with lowlights in dark blues and indigos that only amplified the black curls that shifted this way and that with her movements.

Phillis _had_ mentioned she was going to change colors again, but she had been debating with Eliza about the possibility of getting away with green hair of any shade in her position. That had been right before Nevis. During. Phillis had sent him and Eliza color samples the day they'd flown back. They'd never gotten the chance to respond and the topic had never come up again in all of the chaos.

Well, no never mind how intelligent or classy she actually was, Phillis now sat across from the biggest asshole in media giving off vibes of a lamb in the wolf’s clutches. If she flubbed the interview, it was going to look like Tarleton had bullied a helpless woman, and If he knew Phillis at all, she’d have the Internet screaming bloody murder by the time the interview was over. Never let it be said she didn’t have an escape plan. The outfit had to have been Herc’s idea. Subconsciously plant the image in the public’s mind to set the stage.  Pretty freaking clever move.

"The Today Show?"

"I found Phillis."

George placed his care package on his nightstand. "The Tarleton interview to close out her lectureship tour?"

Alexander sighed wearily. "Yeah. I'd forgotten about that what with...everything. Yeah. Anyway. We watching?"

" _You_ can."

There was a world of speculation in George's voice, and a completely free day (holy shit he'd forgotten those existed) to indulge whatever idea was running around the man's head. Alex didn't say a word, but he _maybe_ stretched a bit, and if George caught sight of a fresh scattering of love bites, well, the man had put them there yesterday and it was what it was.

_"Dr. Phillis Wheatley, good morning! It is so good to see you!"_

_"Good morning to you too, Banny.”_

Alex smirked as the mattress dipped and George's weight settled against his back. "On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the time that weird farmer down in Arkansas read her his love poem, I rate that smile a flat 0 on the legitimacy scale."

"It doesn't look that fake to me?" Alex frowned at George’s comment, studying Phillis' expression as she chatted with Banny about some triviality or another.

"That's because you wear your emotions on your sleeve. We all can't be a walking mood ring."

“You get the feeling she set Tarleton up?”

“I get the feeling she’s acting in a professional and tasteful manner becoming of someone of her education level and career, and Banastre Tarleton deserves whatever he gets if he goes looking for trouble.”

“So it’s a set up.” Alex shivered, breath hitching as the hand George left resting just below his ribs began to slowly drift lower and lower to go wandering around some very sensitive areas. “George—”

“Considering who I heard was with her? Yes, it’s a setup.”

“George _—”_

“Hush. Watch the TV.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What do you _mean_ Satan’s with her?!”

Hercules rolled his eyes at John’s outburst, held the phone away from his ears until John was done ranting, and continued watching the interview from the TVs scattered around the lounge.

“Exactly what I said. She called Paine to back her up, and when I talked to her this morning she said he brought her breakfast and was taking her to the station. They’ve got some scheme cooked up, I’m sure. Whatever it is, she’s doing pretty well. No blood or tears, no screaming…”

“And you aren’t at all worried by the fact that Paine might be trying to steal her back from you?”

Hercules snorted and reached for a piece of bacon. “That’s the _last_ thing I’m worried about. He’s been trying off and on for two years and it’s actually kind of funny watching him find new and interesting ways to fail, now.”

_“_ _You said during your lectureship series that one of the main problems with the US immigration debate is a lack of respect for them as a social class. Now, you have become a sort of poster child—a role model—for the immigrant community by showing just how far one can go, but what about negative immigrant impacts?”_

Hercules dropped his piece of bacon and leaned back in his seat. “Shit John, here we go.”

On the other end of the call, John Laurens shoved his bowl of cereal aside and turned up his TV. “I hope not! That’s the clumsiest lead in I’ve ever seen.”

On screen, Phillis let out an incredulous chuckle. _“I find the whole idea of negative immigrant impacts a bit silly, Banny, considering that this country was founded and built on their backs. Immigrants plant and harvest American crops, grow the tech industry, fight its wars, advance the economy and enrich the proverbial cultural melting pot. An immigrant coming up from the bottom to become a new person and forge a legacy is the quintessential American Dream.” Phillis paused, cocking her head slightly to the side in a coy maneuver. “Or are you looking to jump on the “all immigrants are rapists and murderers bandwagon?”_

So far so good. “Brit TV, homie. Rick and I made her watch a few of his clips from across the Pond. British interviewers are _brutal._ They don’t bother too much with pretense, I’ve noticed.”

Banny smiled, a flawlessly perfect show of pearly white teeth that made John long to hurl a rock straight through his grill. He’d threatened to do as much one of the few times they’d crossed paths before.

“Herc, you see his angle too, right?” John reached for his coffee and refreshed Thomas Paine’s Twitter feed. Phillis had texted him a request to keep an eye on it, so he’d obliged her. Granted, it was really freaking hard not to start spamming the man’s feed, but he could make a few minor sacrifices.

“Bet you ten bucks the bastard’s going to set it up as a lead in to Hamilton.”

John snorted. “I don’t do sucker bets, Herc.”

_“Now Dr. Wheatley, I would hardly do such a thing. I think you’ve misunderstood my question, actually. I was more curious about the impact of role models, both good and negative, in the immigrant community, not the presence of immigrants themselves in America. But let’s be fair while we’re at it: role models like yourself, whether they intend to or not, do impact the demographics they represent for better or worse.”_

That smug bastard. Phillis arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. _“I hardly think my presence speaks for an entire social class, Banny.”_

“She’s really not doing too badly. Maybe it’ll stay this way.” John murmured.

“This part’s easy. It’s when he decides to go for the gold that we need to be worried about. And he will. Phillis was prepped, and prepped well, but…”

* * *

 

 

_“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss that idea; you’ve taken up the cause of immigrant rights and when people think about powerful and respected immigrants, your name is a common result. You are a well-known and loved role model, but there’s two sides to every coin.”_

“You owe me ten bucks, Laurens.”

John scoffed and put his phone on speaker while he tied his hair back. “Bull. I didn’t take that bet. Go swindle someone else.”

 Phillis’ expression didn’t even crack. _“Oh?”_

There was muffled crunching on the other end of the line. “When are you coming down?”

“When there’s not forty freaking reporters camped out in front of my building.” John fought down the momentary flash of irritation that accompanied thoughts of the press swarm lying in wait for him.

Hercules’ voice was dripping with fake despair when he finished chewing. “I’m never going to see you again, am I?”

“You should’ve come up with her, Mulligan. We’re going to try to grab lunch before her flight back.”

“Man, it was dicey enough escaping the group stalking us long enough to get her to the airport yesterday. I’m not setting myself up for round two before absolutely necessary.”

_“Of course. You’ve done a lot to help the immigrant community, but there are others who have been accused of doing an equal amount of harm to it. Just look at Alexander Hamilton and the scandal he’s brought to what used to be the most respected office in the land. How do you feel about the damage he’s dealt to the immigrant community?”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Motherfucker!”

“ _Language.”_

Alexander's outraged expression quickly morphed into one of pleasure as a heavy swat across his backside ripped a sharp gasp out of his throat and sent him grinding against the hand George had sent wandering around below deck--not enough pressure in any one place to be of _any_ damn relief, but enough to keep him very definitely interested. All in all, it did nothing save key him up another notch and drive home the fact that he was on his way to having the most maddeningly slow orgasm of his life.

George—who had absolutely no right to sound so calm—continued to torment him during even as he scolded him. "Yelling at the TV isn't going to do you any good. It's not like either of them can hear you."

“It’s bad enough to have to stomach freaking Paul Revere and Sam Adams going on about this, but I’m not about to let your name be run through the mud by some creeper-ass pseudo-celebrity Brit with delusions of a Grammy! And then Mr. Dual-fucking-citizenship wants to talk shit like he’s not practically an immigrant himself! Did you _hear_ that shit about the immigrant community!? Fuck tha-aah! Ah! Oh _God,_ _Papi_!”

George didn't loosen his grip of Alexander's hair as he pulled his head back so he could comfortably whisper in his ear. "Simmer. Down. Tarleton is a small fry compared to what’s headed your way at the hearing; if you let this fool set you off then they are going to eat you alive.”

Alex nodded, let loose a tiny gasp when George set about nibbling at his ear. “I—” His cellphone started ringing. “My phone!” His baby, his precious, his phone! Alex tried to shift closer towards George’s nightstand, but there was no way he was escaping the hold he was trapped in. Not that he entirely wanted to, because George was doing that thing with his hands again and—

“Hello, Gilbert.”

Alex clawed at the bed. No. No _fucking way._ Fucking George and those playful ass moods of oh _God, right there--_

“Yes, it’s still confiscated. I’d pass you over anyway, but unfortunately Alexander is tied up right now.”

Alex had to bury his face in a pillow to muffle the cry that escaped his throat and prayed to God Lafayette hadn’t heard it.

“I’ll let him know you called, and yes, we _are_ watching it. Talk to you later, Gilbert.” George ended the call and tossed the phone aside so that his evil, evil hands could return to their sinister task of driving him completely insane.

“So, where were we?”

Alex babbled nonsensically in reply.

 

* * *

 

_“--think any damage has been done.”_

_“Fair enough, but then, you’ve had a very visible friendship with both Alexander Hamilton and Eliza Schuyler. I guess it’s not such a surprise since you all share a common background.”_

“Christ…ten bucks the next thing he says is incredibly fucked up.” Hercules reached for another piece of bacon.

“I _still_ don’t take sucker bets, Herc. Banny better be careful. There are a _ton_ of people waiting for him to stumble.”

_“Us, and probably three million other Americans, depending on which aspect of our background you’re aiming for at any given time.”_

_“Well, you know the saying. Like calls to like, and you both have that common history of being immigrants and adoptees. It seems only natural that friendship would grow out of that. In fact, you claimed in an earlier interview that you considered Hamilton and Schuyler to be some of your closest friends. Friends talk. How long did you know about their affair with the Washingtons?”_

John swore loudly. “They were supposed to be talking about poetry! How do you get to _that_ from poetry?!”

Hercules shook his head in disbelief. “What kind of insane troll logic...”

 

* * *

 

 

“She’d better **not** answer that.” Adrienne reached for the open jar of blackberry jalapeno marmalade Phillis had mailed them when her lectureship tour had her swinging through Houston and liberally smeared her brioche with it.

“It has never been my experience that our Poet Laureate was a complete idiot.” Lafayette shifted Georges carefully and continued to burp his son.

“ _A few things._ _First, you’re presuming that I ever made their personal relationship my concern, just like you’re presuming my personal relationship with either party is any of **your** concern. Second, what you’re doing is trying to use me to exploit someone else’s misfortune, and I won’t be a party to it. I think everyone involved has already had their privacy violated thoroughly enough by bottom-dwellers.”_

 “I have to say, I have _never_ seen anyone wield self-righteous indignation quite as skillfully as she just did. So few who attempt it actually manage to succeed.”

Lafayette huffed out a quick laugh. “She told me Thomas Paine taught her the trick of it, surprisingly enough.”

“Ah, Thomas. Are they in collusion, then? I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’s wrapped up in this somehow.”

“According to Rick, they were planning to destroy this idiot before the interview is over, but only if Tarleton goes after her first.”

“Phillis’ influence, no doubt. Paine usually doesn’t wait for simple things like provocation to strike.”

“-- _don't think that the American public has a right to know what their leaders are about?”_

Phillis reached up and primly adjusted the sleek silver wire-frame glasses that was part and parcel of her “Dr. Phillis Wheatley” persona. “ _What goes on between consenting individuals in what **should** have been their private moments is not for public consumption."_

“She’s pulling her punches. She’s taken down people in half as much time with only a fifth of the words.” Lafayette shook his head, then flinched as Georges finally burped and spit up a bit on the soft towel draped over his shoulder.

“Necessity. She’s got her finger in too many pies to risk appearing as if she’s pushing her own agenda when it comes to this ridiculous “scandal”. She’s probably going to let Banastre keep going until he’s got enough rope to hang himself and it’s well and truly clear that she didn’t instigate a thing.”

_"Do you think it doesn't have a bearing on how the country is run?"_

_"I notice that the country is doing quite well, no matter what you or those vultures from the tabloids try to insinuate. We've moved out of the recession we were in during the Adams administration, there has been a marked fall in gun violence nationwide, and I imagine a lot of people are going to be getting a very nice tax return, and the groundwork for this was all accomplished without breaking into the First Family's private life. As a matter of fact, had Maria Reynolds possessed even a shred of actual journalistic integrity, we’d be sitting right here chatting about poetry as originally intended instead of you clumsily swooping in for a few cheap shots in order to make yourself relevant in a political landscape that bypassed you a decade ago.”_

“My, what a peculiar shade of red he just turned.” Adrienne finished her brioche and reached for her mimosa.

 

* * *

 

 

Hercules finished eating and reached for the glass of apple juice sitting next to his coffee mug. “Oh my God, will they just finish this guy off already.”

John snorted. “Literally or metaphorically? He’s pretty screwed, to be honest, but Phillis has got to be careful with her goodwill. She’s probably going to need a lot of it by this weekend.”

_“Honestly Banny, I can’t believe we’re even discussing this. You invited me here to discuss my lectureship tour, but you’re badgering me about the private lives of my friends and colleagues?”_ Phillis poured a healthy dose of outrage tinged with hurt into her voice, ruthlessly playing up the role of unsuspecting victim as she laid her trap.

Hercules froze. “What have you been hearing? Rick and I have been fending off the NAACP for a while, but Phillis is the grand organizer for their millennials and Internet warriors, and the leadership needs them on the attack. They’re getting antsy, and Sojourner Truth is not a woman to be trifled with."

“Yeah, well I got a phone call from DC asking me to see if I would be so kind as to inform Phillis that she needed to drop in on her and Harriet Tubman for a chat if we saw each other.”

Phillis’ expression turned hard as she met Banny’s piercing blue gaze. _“Tell you what. I’ll discuss my personal relationship with Hamilton, Schuyler, and the Washingtons, but only if you discuss your personal relationship with Mary Robinson. I mean, you two have been long time friends, too.”_

“She said ‘friends’, but all I’m hearing is ‘fuckbuddies’. Looks like it’s showtime!”

John sighed on the other end of the phone. “Of course the sleazebag going on about the sanctity of marriage and professionalism is cheating all over the place.”

“Tale as old as time, JL, tale as old as time.”

_“Well, yes, I am quite aware that’s personal, but I just find it interesting considering you just had a child with Willie Wilberforce’s wife. I’m sorry, ex-wife. Or is that still pending? I’m so sorry, the timing always trips me up a bit.”_

“Damn, that goes in the petty hall of fame.”

Hercules frowned up at the TV. “Did…did this guy just die? You seeing this too, right John? Banny just went really, really red then really, really white and now he’s just sort of…pasty beige?”

“That, sir, is the face of Regret.”

* * *

 

_“Or perhaps we can talk about the inordinate amount of time you’ve been spending with Susan Bertie behind both Anna and Mary’s back.”_

“Well, look who’s been a busy little bee.”  Gilbert murmured as Adrienne cooed at a freshly changed Georges. Three different women, and Tarleton dared to throw stones.

“Thomas Paine must be halfway to getting off on this.”

“Oh no doubt.” Gilbert poured himself up another cup of coffee and reached for the sugar. “He’s going to be insufferable for the next week.”

_“Oh, I’m sorry, did I tread too close to your own personal boundaries? Why are you suddenly so angry when you were quite willing to do the same and worse with other people? The very fact that you reacted so negatively when placed in the same situation ought to tell you just how invasive and rude your own line of questioning was. Now, I would personally like to return to the topic of the interview, but I'm more than willing to continue this bit of awkward dialogue if you insist. Can we please get back to poetry?”_

“And _that_ is the end of Banastre Tarleton.” Gilbert pronounced.

“Good riddance.” Adrienne pronounced and turned off the TV. There was more time left to the interview, but that was just a formality. It was over, and Tarleton was over.

Gilbert’s phone suddenly chimed, and he glanced down at the caller id.

“John Laurens, my heart.”

“Tell him good morning for me. I’m going to go put Georges down. He did not sleep last night.” Adrienne slipped by him towards the crib in the next room.

“Neither did we.” Gilbert answered the call “John! And Hercules! Good morning, gentlemen! Adrienne says hello.”

John sounded downright gleeful as he shouted into the phone. “Adrienne! Tell me you are done with this loser so we can run away to begin our lives together!”

“She can’t hear you, Laurens. You idiot.”

“Don’t be jealous Frenchie. I’ll run away with you to make it even.”

“Ah, but your Poetess, she has just murdered Tarleton, _non?_ I do not think we should tempt her while she is in the throes of her bloodlust.”

A round of laughter.

There was the tell-tale growl of a garbage disposal on John’s end of the call. “Have you seen Paine’s Tweets?”

“Oh? He’s finally showing his hand in this little drama?”

“As soon as she started dropping names. He’s been on the attack for the last six or seven minutes, his hashtag Morning Roast on the Today Show is already looking like it’s going to trend, and we’ve got the hashtags Eat Your Wheaties and The Shot Heard Round The World picking up serious steam too.”

Lafayette let out a malicious little laugh of his own. “It’s nice to have Thomas Paine on your side.”

“Not particularly. Having him on your side just lines him up for a better shot at your vitals.”

“Ah, the feud still lingers, then.”

“Lafayette, man, don’t get this guy started.” Hercules cut John’s no doubt heated reply off before he could voice it. “So how’s things on the Hill?”

“About the same. All the Republicans are trying to capitalize on the situation, the Democrats are still infighting about how much support they throw behind the First Family. The more liberal presences are providing a bit of a buffer, but it’s not nearly enough. The bulk of the party is trying to feel out the masses before they come down firmly on one side or the other. Our whip can realistically only do so much when it’s a scandal this big, and the Senate’s no better. Now, if more of our congressmen had a fire lit under them from their own constituents we could get somewhere, but the Democratic and unaligned American public? Sheep in search of a shepherd.”

“That about sums up the whining I hear on my end from my clients.” Hercules stifled a yawn. “Is that what the Chair of the Congressional Black Caucus wants with Phillis?”

“And the NAACP. Don’t ever think Truth and Tubman aren’t in each other’s pockets.”

“They’ve been sending out feelers to the HRC and ACLU, too,” John added. “We’ve already thrown in behind the First Family, but the louder the voices, the bigger the impact. And what do all four organizations have in common?”

Gilbert groaned and reached for more brioche. “Really, Phillis needs to just give up the academics and stop waffling about going full force into politics because this dabbling shit is getting ridiculous. She can return to her books when she retires.”

“Christ, never let her hear you say that.” Hercules shuddered, imagining the ten kinds of hell Phillis would raise if she’d heard Lafayette’s statement. “We all know she’s feeling the pull, but she wants that second term of Laureate like burning. Everything else is secondary to that goal right now.”

“Well she might not get that term. Rick got hemmed up by Tubman yesterday.”

“ _What?”_

Gilbert rolled his eyes and took a drink of his coffee. “How did you two not hear about this!? Rick’s been keeping Phillis on lockdown. Tubman finally got tired of him giving her and Sojourner Truth the run around, so she _literally_ grabbed him by the ear like a naughty child and demanded that he “give her back”, and then insinuated she would drop in on the Librarian of Congress if Phillis doesn’t get in touch soon.”

 “What even is this month, guys? Shit has been wild since day one.”

“Why Keimer? Doesn’t POTUS appoint the next Laureate?” John let out a disgusted yelp. “Fuck Tarleton, she’s only 19!”

“What!? Who?”

“Paine just dished out more of Banny’s dirt. Susan Bertie. 19 years old – and on the fresh side of it, too.”

“Oh come _on._ ”

“Well, that glass house of his is just covered in shit stains.” Gilbert muttered. “And to answer your question John, no, POTUS does not appoint the Laureate. The Librarian of Congress does.”

“…you think Tubman’s really going to pressure Keimer into cutting Phillis loose once this term as Laureate is over?”

“That woman has threatened to outright shoot recalcitrant members of the CBC in public and not given a single damn whether she was overheard or not.” Hercules laughed, and slipped a twenty on the table to cover his meal and tip before heading for the door.

“Holy hell. I have no illusions about politics, but this is just nuts.”

Gilbert laughed outright. “Come now Laurens, did you honestly think they were going to let the Republicans punch a hole in George’s administration like this without some form of payback? They just need the right players and someone to pull the trigger.”

“Still missing DC, John?”

“Don’t be surprised if you get drawn into it too, Hercules.” Lafayette cautioned. “Everyone knows you’ve got a wide sampling of dirt at your disposal.”

“Christ Lafayette, one of these days the NSA or Homeland Security is just going to roll up on my shop and give me the ‘join us or die ultimatum.”

“You built that reputation, not I _mon ami_.”

Hercules shook his head in disbelief. “I’m going to go pick my Filly up from the airport, and then we’re moving to New York. DC is whack.”

John snickered. “Well I need to get going and see about sneaking out of my own damn apartment. Anyone heard from Alex? He doing okay?”

“I called earlier to see if he was watching the Today Show.” Gilbert snorted. “George answered Hamilton’s phone, said he was occupied, and hung up.”

“Tell me they weren’t—”

“ _Yes Papi, more cariño,_ _please oh please, Papi_.” Gilbert deadpanned.

Raucous laughter erupted from John’s end of the line and an ‘I am 1000% done’ groan from Hercules’ end.  “Isn’t this shit what got them in trouble in the first place!?” Hercules demanded.

“Someone needs to tell Hamilton that saying it in Spanish doesn’t change the fact the world knows about the Daddy kink. He's just going to have to make his peace with it.” 

“Well I doubt they were being recorded this time. But since George saw fit to inflict that on me, I judged it only fair that I share it with you as well. Misery and company. Enjoy your morning, gentlemen.”

 


	4. Phillis Wheatley Slays the Big Bad Brit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Not Over Until It Ends Up On Buzzfeed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand a light interlude to hold things over until I get done with my thesis. I might be able to sneak in an update before two weeks come and go, but no promises. So have a faux Buzzfeed article! Disclaimer: Comes complete with poor attempts at sass, reckless humor, and gossip masquerading as news. Plagiarism from Cracked not included.

Phillis Wheatley Slays the Big Bad Brit

OMG, LOL, Win

 

This is Phillis Wheatley

(library-of-congress-phillis-wheatley.jpg)

She writes poetry, fights The Man, and is a legit genius with one of the saltiest feeds on Twitter. We know you know that because you keep turning her Tweets into memes on Tumblr. Don’t front.

This morning she reappeared in the public for an interview about her lectureship tour that recently ended. That would only be somewhat interesting, but she rolls with this guy:

(newsweek-alexander-hamilton.jpg)

That’s right, Alexander Hamilton, (former) White House Chief of Staff, Angriest Chihuahua on the Hill, and Patron Saint of the Daddy Kink.

She also hangs out with this guy:

(enhanced-john-laurens.jpg)

Phillis’ partner in crime (but for good causes), HRC hottie John Laurens (I’ll take “Lawyers I Would Bone” for 500, Alex), former roommate and BFF of Alexander Hamilton. Speaking of roommates:

(Hercules-mulligan.jpg)

Hercules Mulligan (WTF why is he so cute), Tailor for the political elite (no, really, he’s CUTE), plunderer of Senate interns (lock up your daughters) _other_ former roommate and BFF of Alexander Hamilton, and Phillis Wheatley’s current dish.

In case you all forgot (how could you??)

Maria Reynolds,

(gawker-maria-reynolds.jpg)

The Wicked Witch of Gawker, kinkshamed the White House and coined the term Daddygate for our future generations. Let’s have a quick moment of silence for future US government classes, which are going to basically be semester long Penthouse letters thanks to the antics coming out of DC these past 8 years.)

Thanks to Reynold’s, everyone in media would like A Word with the Washingcrew, who all have been conspicuously inconspicuous.

(Washingcrew.jpg)

From left to right: TR: George Washington, Martha Washington, Gilbert du Motier, Adrienne du Motier, and Phillis Wheatley. FR: Alexander Hamilton, Elizabeth Schuyler, John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan.

 (Washingcrew-milk-carton.jpg) caption: Have you seen us?

 

Granted, Hamilton _did_ surface momentarily to clap back at Reynolds, but promptly disappeared again. (Did…did Big Daddy G send him to his room? Is he “ _grounded”?_ Did the black suits get him? Are you okay, Alexander Hamilton?? It’s very quiet uptown.)

So. Reynolds put the First Family on blast and a sizeable portion of their inner circle promptly went radio silent, driving the press mad because they want at the cast members of this latest drama and canned statements and cookie cutter press releases are Not Enough.

Then, this morning. This magical time in all our lives.

This guy:

(today-show-evil-brit.jpg)

Is the Anti-Christ of NBC. Banny Tarleton is a Bad Man who screwed his former co-anchor on the Today Show over (stay alive, Willie) then knocked up his former co-anchor’s wife (seriously, prayer circle for Willie Wilberforce, guys), and somehow manages to keep a million housewives in perpetual hategasm  over him because WTF, the evil ones are _always hot._

He has an interview with a member of the Washingcrew. The first time _any of them_ go stepping back into the limelight, and it’s straight into his clutches.

Ye gods.

So, today he woke up and likely planned on eating Wheaties for breakfast (who coined this nickname, Internet, because OMG), but nothing is more American than wrecking a Brit, and Phillis Wheatley is One of Us.

If you want to watch click play on the video below.

The slaughter begins at 3:57.

(EMBEDDED VIDEO: http://www.youtube.com/ 923XR24t...)

 

For those with a sub-optimal Internet connection or a constitution ill-suited to a snuff film (because I legit think Banny _died_ somewhere in this interview and the thing wandering around now is a zombie) here’s the play-by-play.

 

3:57

Banny, true to form as the Brit We All Love to Hate (and Hate to Love), finally drops all the pretense of a civil interview and goes after Phillis about Daddygate. Classy.

5:29

Banny low-key tries to blame Daddygate on immigrants (boooo), but Phillis isn’t having any of it.

5:41 – 7:00

Phillis Wheatley ain’t no snitch.

7:11

Banny wants to know about the kinky sex, apparently because federal dick is Serious Business for this man.

8:05 – 15:17

Join me in celebrating the birth of our triplets #MorningRoastOnTheTodayShow , #EatYourWheaties , and #TheShotHeardRoundTheWorld

15:19

I’m pretty sure a grown-ass man just shat himself on live television.

16:05

Banny Tarleton couldn’t handle his Wheaties and it damn near killed him.

16:55

Phillis Wheatley wants to go back to poetry. Banny looks like he just wants to _go_.

 

Props to Banny for actually finding the nerve to _finish_ that interview, more props to Phillis for sitting there like she didn’t just wreck a man’s shit in front of all America in less than 15 minutes. Savage AF.

 

Now here’s the interesting thing:  Thomas Paine.

(nytimes-thomas-paine.jpg)

Thomas Paine, erstwhile political correspondent and career assassin (check out [www.thomaspainehitlist.com](http://www.thomaspainehitlist.com)) , sworn enemy of John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton, confirms he was in studio with revolving-door girlfriend Phillis. Freaking. Wheatley. The Poet and the Snake stroll into the studio, Paine exposes Banny online while Wheatley wrecks his ass live on his own damn show, and…then they leave? Like this is every day business??

This is like Martha Jones teaming up with The Master to kill Daleks.

Princess Leia beating the crap out of Emperor Palpatine while Darth Vader Force-chokes him.

WHAT ARE THEY UP TO??

WHAT WAS BANNY THINKING??

Willie’s (soon to be ex) wife is Banny’s baby mama. Mary Robinson-who our counterparts at Buzzfeed UK confirm is a gal pal of Wheatley’s—is his current and longest standing lover. Then there’s Susan Bertie. Banny, no. C’mon, guy, she’s only 19. It might not be illegal, but that’s kinda nasty. It also drives home Phillis’ point: The skeletons in the closet of the people going after the First Family are ridiculous, and they’re coasting by with barely a slap on the wrist. Is it mass hypocrisy? Out of control political agendas? Racism? Homophobia? Some gross amalgam of the aforementioned?  I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough what with the upcoming hearings. 

In the meantime, America’s Wordsmith is back on the scene, and taking no prisoners. My only question?

Who’s next?


End file.
